


Tarnished

by TigerDragon1001



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Modern Fantasy, Other, Shapeshifting, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-05-07 10:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14668923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerDragon1001/pseuds/TigerDragon1001





	1. Intro

Please.

Please let this be the right house. As soon as I see it, the straight lines stark between the leaves, nothing else matters. All I see is that brick path, the few metres to the light at the end of the tunnel. The house. Thank fucking God I’m here.

I pull myself up the three steps, a feat for me in this state, and scratch weakly at the door. This has to be the right house. It’s the only house around here. _Scrrrr, scrrr,_ the sound of my nails against the wood gets my _own_ hackles up. Yet no one answers.

I try to scream, but my voice cuts short. I’m embarrassed. Can you imagine? Too embarrassed to call for help! I’m starving, I’m a mess, I’ve gone and fucked up my own life, but here I am, too anxious to scream for the one person who can help me right now. I try again, but it comes out sounding nothing more than a strained breath.

Just _do it_ you dumbass.

Instead I end up crying, but I guess that’s better than nothing. Still, no one responds.

Maybe she can’t hear me. She has to be here… right? I look about for signs of life. When I force my swimming vision to focus, I notice how the place actually looks... abandoned. Ivy stretches up the walls of the house, half of it dead, and a thick tangle of thorny shrub borders the door. The windows are dark. But… this is the only house for miles, it has to be it. It has to be. Unless... she hadn’t moved, had she? She’d have told me though... right? We hadn’t exactly talked for a while but… surely…

I stop my yowling. An all too familiar feeling rises in my throat, and my chest goes tight and painful, as if there’s a burning black hole within me. My heart thuds in my ears, my breathing grows fast and laboured. I want to cry, but I know I can’t. Oh God. Oh _God_. I slump, falling on my side, my head jarring on the cold concrete. Everything blurs once more and the world looks like a watercolour gone wrong. Wrongly. I guess even when I’m dying I can’t escape my mum’s need for perfect grammar. Oh Mum… Dad… Kai… what have I done?

The wind whispers across my ears. “Your fault!” it cries. “Your fault! Lie down and die you wretched creature, selfish fool!” But of course, it’s not the wind who tells me that.

Movement catches my eye, but it’s only a line of ants that I can just about make out, weaving over the step in front of me. A few divert from their military single-file and dare to climb me. They must think I’m already dead. It’s a fair assumption. I can actually smell the decay from my own mouth. Were my teeth rotten? Was it just the last scraps of that baby bird I ate last week, turning to slime between my canines?

I throw up.

I ate a fucking bird alive. And for what? No good reason. No fucking reason at all.

I should have died ages ago. I should have died.

_I should have._


	2. Here

Something is touching me.

Two somethings are touching me. Two warm somethings.

I don’t want to wake up yet. My bed is cold and hard and scratchy, but I’m tired. I’m so tired. Is there anything on today? Can I sleep in?

Wait- I haven’t had a bed in months.

Wait- when did I fall asleep?

Shit, I’m moving! I’m moving! Shit! My eyes snap open, and instinctively I change back. The world lights up in a mess of colour, and the tickling of ants grows unbearably acute. As hands spring out of my paws, there’s a cry. I jerk out from the grasp of the somethings, twisting, and the ground rushes up to me. The shock shoots up my elbow first, then through my ribcage. My feet – my human, boot-clad feet – hit the door frame. The ants scatter like dropped black rice.

I still can’t make sense of the bright, hazy world I see, and now my bruises start to sting. A shadow in front of me sinks into itself, its colours starting to separate into distinct shapes. One of its lines moves.

“Gold?”

Oh my god. I’m here. She’s here. This was the right house. _This was the right house._

“Oh-” I say. My voice catches, and I hate how weak it sounds. Now my throat’s closing again, and a strangled, drawn out whine escapes me. No no no don’t look at me don’t make that sound, no _no_ -

My hands curl over my face. The sudden, shaky rise and fall of my chest is only tempered by the pain of my ribs grazing the floor. There should be a hand to help me up, or stroke my hair, or pat me on the shoulder, but there isn’t. Phantom touches prickle my skin.

I must look hideous.

I must sound hideous.

I look up. She’s just staring, why is she staring? I know why. Stop staring. _Help me._ No. Leave me. Help me. Don’t look at me like that. If you cry I’ll gut you. And then cry myself.

_Oh fuck me and my fucking brain._

I think I’m bleeding.

“Jay?” I hate how I sound so goddamn much. “H-” my throat is a drawstring bag yanked shut. “Help.” And the word crushes me, deflates the bag, all the air stuttering, syncopating out. Sour eyes.

I can’t read her expression.


End file.
